


Une Valse à Mille Temps

by Tournesol



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dancing, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 04:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tournesol/pseuds/Tournesol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire teaches Enjolras how to waltz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greetingsprogramms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greetingsprogramms/gifts).



> Chapter 3 is an alternate ending which I didn't plan but pretty much wrote itself. You can read it or ignore it, either way it is set after chapter 1.
> 
> Entirely greetingsprogramms' fault. All she had to do was show me a picture of two guys dancing barefoot and suddenly this. Once again, eternal thanks for the support. None of this would exist if it weren't for her.
> 
> Title from the song La Valse Mille Temps by Jacques Brel, which you should really listen to. it's a play on words because "à mille temps" (thousand times) sounds the same as "a mis le temps" (took its time). 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr http://hugatreeortwo.tumblr.com/

The facts were these: Cosette and Marius’ wedding was now 34 days, 2 hours, 23 minutes and 42 seconds away and at that particular moment, Enjolras was screwed. Screwed, as he had made the mistake of making a promise to the bride he wasn’t sure he could fulfill. Namely, granting Cosette a dance at her wedding. Saying no had not been an option, because a) despite her sweet and seemingly unthreatening appearance Cosette could be downright terrifying, b) Cosette’s ex-convict of a father could be equally as terrifying as the blonde, and c) the reason the bride had asked Enjolras as well as the other Amis to dance with her at her wedding was that Cosette had learned the hard way and at a very young age that family wasn’t necessarily built on blood ties; her adoptive father was all the family she had left and she had embraced les Amis as part of her extended family after the motley crew had somehow adopted her soon to be husband. Enjolras understood that all too well even if unlike Marius and Cosette he wasn’t orphaned. His relationship with his parents had always been on the cold side: they didn’t approve of his ideals and lifestyle and neither did he theirs, when he’d been able to he had simply parted ways and severed all ties with them. Like Cosette and Marius, it’s in les Amis that Enjolras had come to find a semblance of family. 

This slight digression however does not explain in which capacity Enjolras was actually screwed. The heart of the problem lied in the fact that Enjolras couldn’t dance. He was accomplished in many things, but dancing was not one of them. One could even go as far as to say that he was utterly hopeless at it., but his pride prevented him from asking for help, that would be his last resort. Until then he did what he usually did as he tackled a task, be it a paper or a Les Amis related issue: extensive research. Soon the terms “ballroom dancing” “waltz” and “dancing tutorial” replaced his poli sci, law, and history searches in his browser, and his philosophy and biographies bookmarks were now paired with youtube links of ballroom dancing in his internet history. He immersed himself in the technical and theoretical aspect of dancing, stubborn enough to think that in time his brain would will his feet well enough to perform at Cosette and Marius’ wedding. 

What Enjolras had not taken into consideration was that Combeferre a) knew of Enjolras’ helplessness regarding dance and b) was observant enough to notice that his best friend was in a bit of a situation but too proud and oblivious to even consider asking for help. Not being Enjolras’ best friend for nothing, he knew pushing Enjolras would prove useless. So Combeferre waited. Waited for the perfect opportunity to broach the subject, when Enjolras would be cornered into accepting help. Said opportunity presented itself one afternoon as Combeferre walked home in the flat he shared with Enjolras to find his flatmate sprawled on their couch, asleep with his laptop still on resting on his stomach, a tab open on a youtube video of ballroom dancing. Combeferre sighed and shook his head at his slumbering flatmate. Now was the time. Combeferre, sweet perfect Combeferre who knew better than to wake up his friend right away and expect him to be receptive to his suggestions, headed to the kitchen to start a pot a coffee. Pouring two cups, he took one for himself and one for his flatmate, putting it tactfully on the coffee table, at smelling distance from Enjolras. He perched on the armchair next to his best friend, waiting for the effusions of the hot beverage to work their magic. And Combeferre was not disappointed as the sleepy form on the couch stirred and stretched, eyes glancing hungrily at the steaming cup of coffee, and then at Combeferre. Enjolras hastily closed his laptop in an attempt to shield the screen from Combeferre, as if the other wasn’t already aware of the embarrassing content of his internet history and this without having to take a look at it. Combeferre wanted badly to shake his head at his best friend in frustration but repressed the urge. 

“Combeferre, you’re a saint,” mumbled Enjolras as he clasped his mug and took a tentative sip. Combeferre smiled slightly as he doubted Enjolras would hold onto that opinion after they were through with the conversation planned. Speaking of: 

“Are you ready to admit that you need help yet?” 

Combeferre didn’t fuck around. When Enjolras feigned innocence and replied with a coy

“With what?” 

Combeferre blessed him with his infamous “unimpressed stare”. 

“It’s cute that after all these years you still think you can fool me Enjolras. And by cute, I mean stupid by the way. Don’t look at me like that. One can never be too careful with sarcasm around you.”

Enjolras closed his eyes. Better to admit defeat now than to argue about a personal matter with Combeferre. When Enjolras still did not respond, Combeferre went on.

“The dancing, you idiot. I’m talking about the dancing. The wedding is a month away, all of us have been tutored by R and we’ve been rehearsing for weeks now. Haven’t you noticed that Courfeyrac, Jehan, Bahorel and Feuilly keep watching The Goblet of Fire on repeat to reenact the ball scene and perfect their moves? Jehan believes he's Hermione and I would not be surprised to see him at the wedding clad in a pink chiffon dress. Of course Bahorel and Courf’ are fighting to be Krum.”

Enjolras, wide eyed, looked at his best friend as if he’d grown a second head. He asked tentatively

“You’re referencing Harry Potter right?” His voice was unsure. 

“I can’t believe you haven’t read or watched Harry Potter and you still call yourself my best friend. You would love it too, there are some pretty interesting tropes about the fight against oppression… However don’t try and make me change the subject. At least the others are invested in this. You’ve been holed up all this time. You need to practice. Real, actual practice, with real dancing. This is not something you’ll achieve with research.”

Combeferre let a moment of silence for the words to settle with Enjolras. 

“R tutored you? I didn’t even know he… Fuck ‘Ferre I’m really screwed am I? Do you think it’s too late now? You guys could always make me practice…” 

“If you paid attention you would notice these things. There is a life outside the club Enjolras. I was not joking about the Potter thing by the way. If you join the others now they’ll make you play a part in their madness. I think you know what I’m about to suggest already and you know you’re not gonna like it. Call R.”

“Why not you-” 

“Don’t even think about it Enjolras. I’m not doing this with you. I know you’ll be a terrible student and R is more equipped than me to deal with this, he’s done wonders with the others, even Bossuet can handle a dance without injuring himself or his dance partner so if he got Bossuet to do that then he can make you. Which you’d have known if you’d been there like the others you know? So call him. Make amends, apologize, and he’ll give you a chance I’m sure.” 

“Apologizing? Have I done something to offend him?” 

It was said without ire, the question was genuine and laced with concern. Enjolras knew that he had a short fuse when Grantaire was concerned, even though the reason why was unfathomable to him, and he also knew that he could be cruel at times. It was never during the inevitable heated arguments between him and the resident cynic that he was able to measure the weight of the words he had uttered to the man, but always afterwards, when his mind wasn’t clouded in a haze of buzzing fury only Grantaire could provoke. And sadly it was also when he was not in the presence of Grantaire that he felt himself capable and willing to apologize to the man. All in all, they always seemed stuck in that perpetual loop of miscommunication and frustration. Enjolras seemed to be lost in thought, and Combeferre moved to pat Enjolras’ arm reassuringly. 

“It’s just that the guys and gals see each other all the time outside the club. You don’t, not much at least. And I don’t count. I know you’re busy, but sometimes they can get the wrong idea when you don’t show up to these things. Your absence to the rehearsals was noted, you know how it’s important for them. Plus Grantaire was happy to teach for a change. You really ought to give him some credit you know? There’s more to him than what you see at the meetings. And you seeming not to want to show up outside the meetings can lead people to get the wrong idea like I said.”

Oh. Oh. Of course Combeferre was right. 

“Thanks Combeferre.”

“Don’t mention it. You know what to do.”

And Enjolras did eventually call Grantaire, in what was probably one of the most awkward phone call Enjolras had ever made, considering that he’d never called Grantaire for something other than ABC related in the past and that Grantaire had obviously never expected to receive such a call from a desperate Enjolras asking if he could do him a favor. (Anything. I’ll black your boots) Grantaire had at first stayed silent for so long Enjolras thought he’d hung up or was having a stroke, and then he’d disguised his nervousness and disbelief by being his usual flippant self, despite Enjolras asking that he be serious. (Je suis farouche!) But soon the ordeal was done, and in retrospect it had gone more smoothly than Enjolras had thought it would despite the awkwardness, and Grantaire had agreed to meet Enjolras for a private dance lesson the next day.

When Grantaire knocked on Enjolras and Combeferre’s door the next day (they had a doorbell and still Grantaire never used it which puzzled Enjolras to no end), Enjolras was in the middle of pushing furniture in all corners of the living room to facilitate the lesson. They’d agreed on practicing at Enjolras’ since the living room was more spacious than the one in Grantaire’s pocket sized apartment. Enjolras was slightly nervous but steeled himself not to let it show as he opened the door for Grantaire. The dark haired man was slouched nonchalantly against the doorjamb, arms folded and smiling, dress shoes dangling from his shoulders.

“Well well well. If it isn’t the mighty Apollo in dire need of my help… Never thought I’d see the day…”

And somehow that was all Enjolras needed to hear to make him relax. Because this, the teasing, the smirk on R’s face, that was familiar grounds. This he could deal with. He didn’t say out loud but Enjolras was immensely grateful for Grantaire’s behavior. Having Grantaire treat him with pity or tiptoeing around him would have considerably unsettled Enjolras and made him all the more nervous. He motioned him to come inside, and Grantaire shed his jacket and his dark red beanie and put them on the closest armchair. He whistled as he appraised the room and took a look at Enjolras’ laptop, open on Enjolras’ extensive playlist of dancing songs.

“Holy shit you are prepared… Although I shouldn’t expect any less from you Apollo, I bet you did all your homework on this…” 

“Of course I did. It’s important.”

Grantaire simply nodded. Enjolras didn’t want Grantaire to think that only the cause mattered to him. After his discussion with Combeferre Enjolras wanted to make sure his friends knew how important he considered them to be, it was obvious to him but he’d come to realize thanks to Combeferre that he needed to show them as well. Drinks were offered by Enjolras and declined by Grantaire who stated that if Enjolras was ready they could start right off. Enjolras didn’t quite know how to start so he was happy to let Grantaire handle things since he was the most competent of the two about this after all. 

“Okay, first things first,” said Grantaire eyeing Enjolras’ clad in dark red socks feet. 

“Do you have your dress shoes? If so you should put them on to practice, that way you'll be used to them the day of the wedding, no surprises.”

Enjolras went to retrieve them from his bedroom while Grantaire stepped out of his battered bottled green converses to put his own. When Enjolras reappeared, he seemed unsure. 

“Shall I put some music on?” Enjolras asked sounding awfully hesitant. 

“No need for now, we’ll just go over the basic steps without music first, music can be distracting. Come on Apollo, come here. Let me see what these feet are good for.” 

The bastard was grinning from ear to ear. Enjolras felt better seeing that Grantaire seemed to be enjoying himself at least, he didn’t feel like he was imposing and wasting Grantaire’s time. Enjolras came close to Grantaire, closer than he’d ever be to the man. The dark haired man was rolling the sleeves of his white shirt up his elbows and at this distance Enjolras could see tattoos poking from the sleeves on Grantaire’s forearm: a great white whale in stylized engulfing waves on his left forearm and a ship bearing the name “Pequod” on a stormed sea, in the same stylized lines as the whale on his right one. He’d never paid attention before. Enjolras was well aware that Grantaire had tattoos, but how come he had never realized they were about Moby Dick? Combeferre’s words rang in his mind. There’s more to him than what you see at the meetings. This shouldn’t come as a surprise after all. It was clear from his all his past arguments with Grantaire that he was well read. Enjolras had not realized he was staring, frozen in place. Grantaire brought him out of his reverie.

“Ground control to Major Tom?”

Enjolras startled at this, shame coloring his cheeks red at being caught staring, grey eyes snapping at impossibly blue ones. Grantaire didn’t seem angry, only puzzled, a bit defensive. Enjolras reflected that he wasn’t on his usual behavior, which might seem at odds with Grantaire.

“Sorry, I was just… Moby Dick? I never noticed before. They’re beautiful…”

Now it was Grantaire’s turn to blush at the unexpected praise. 

“I didn’t know you had a thing for tattoos Apollo. Everyone has a giant white whale to fight. What’s yours?”

Thank all the gods he was back to teasing. Enjolras felt light. He was in Grantaire’s space, feet almost touching. Grantaire spoke: 

“Okay so I’ve been informed that you’re hopeless at dancing. Hey don’t look at me like that. Combeferre’s words. Not mine. So allow me to take the lead, O fearless leader.”

“I’m not leading Les Amis de L’ABC it’s equal share for-”

“-I know I know I was just joking Apollo… Geez… You need to relax. Allow me?”

Grantaire took a tentative step towards Enjolras, as if he wasn’t sure he was permitted to touch. Enjolras hold out his right hand to grant his permission in silence. Grantaire took it and placed his other hand on Enjolras’ back, underneath his shoulder blades, while Enjolras put his own on his shoulder. They had never touched, not like that, and Enjolras was registering all sorts of sensory discoveries at once. Grantaire’s hand was warm and calloused against his and it was shaking slightly, and Grantaire was a warm presence against him. As if touching was not enough, he could also smell Grantaire… A faint mixture of cigarette smoke, coffee, turpentine and something musky… It was terribly Grantaire, and he found the scent heady and not at all unpleasant, to his surprise. And if Grantaire’s attitude at the meetings made him impossible to ignore from afar, being in close proximity of him was equally dismaying. Concentrating around Grantaire proved difficult, but for once it was not because of anger. This was new. Grantaire spoke again, thankfully interrupting Enjolras’ wayward train of thought.

“Okay. We’ll start with a waltz, it’s fairly simple and also that’s basically the most common dance out there.”

Enjolras nodded. Grantaire went on. 

“Okay so. A waltz has a three beats count, 1-2-3 1-2-3. Like I said, fairly simple, hell I suck at math and even I can do that so. It’s just a jump to the left…”

When Enjolras trailed his foot to the left, Grantaire erupted in laughter, head rolling back to expose the graceful line of his throat. Enjolras was just glaring. Grantaire gave an explanation when he managed to get the laugh under control and to regain his breath.

“This was a joke Apollo, that’s from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Oh my god how can you have not seen this seriously, it’s a classic cinematic masterpiece you philistine… Well, we need to correct that asap, Next movie night is this Friday at Courf’ and Marius’ and your presence is mandatory. You know Courf’ and Jehan will be outraged that you haven’t seen this right? 

Enjolras was still glaring, and still very much holding Grantaire’s hand… Grantaire went on, basking in the attention of the fierce glare upon him.

“Okay, in all seriousness now… On the first beat I bring my left foot forward, you follow by bringing your right foot backward. Good. On the second beat, I bring my right foot forward in a diagonal, you mirror with your left backward. Okay so now on the third beat I bring my left foot next to my right, you mirror with your own. Alright. Good. Now on the second set of 1-2-3 we do that all over again but in reverse. 1, I bring my right foot backward, you follow forward with your left. 2, I bring my left foot backward in a diagonal and you follow forward with your right. And 3, I bring my right foot next to my left, and you bring your left next to your right, and we’re back at square one. And then we do that all over again. Got it?”

Enjolras nodded. They did as Grantaire instructed. Grantaire for his part was a patient teacher. They repeated the set a few times, slow at first, with Enjolras staring at their feet, soft blond curls almost touching Grantaire’s face. However Enjolras’ inability was soon revealed as the difficulty increased. Grantaire asked Enjolras to stop staring at their feet and look up instead, which dramatically decreased Enjolras’ limbs coordination and impaired his usual grace. Enjolras was impossibly stiff. Their knees bumped painfully a couple times and Enjolras kept stepping on Grantaire’s toes… This was a complete disaster. Grantaire broke their embrace to pause for a bit, and Enjolras found that it felt cold and uncomfortable outside of Grantaire’s arms. 

“Jesus fucking Christ Apollo… Actually no. I resent that nickname. Because the joke’s on me you’re definitely not The Dancer… Oh my god you’re so bad at this how can you be so bad at this? I mean I would have found happiness in the fact that there’s something I’m better at than you if you hadn’t crushed my knees and toes to death.”

Enjolras grumbled an apology which sounded anything but heartfelt. This was no news to him. He began to fear that Grantaire would judge his case hopeless and put an end to the lesson. He was a cynic after all, he’d repeated enough times to Enjolras that he thought investing oneself in a cause lost in advance was useless and masochistic. And yet here he was. Mortification colored Enjolras' cheekbones pink, adding a shade of red to the flush from the effort. He wasn’t used to struggling this much for a task, and having the feeling of getting nowhere. To his surprise, Grantaire didn’t give up, although the way he started teasing him mercilessly made him reconsider his previous fear about Grantaire ending the lesson. 

“Okay from the start. Good god you’re really stiff, I feel like I’m moving furniture around… You need to relax, this is dancing, not the Spanish inquisition so lose the stick that’s shoved up your ass and fucking relax. Just because I call you Apollo doesn’t mean you have to act like walking marble jesus... Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do: we’re gonna take our shoes off.”

Enjolras was glaring again but he was somehow at a loss for words. Grantaire’s formulation was quite colorful but the content was nothing short of the truth. There was nothing to argue against. His eyes widened in surprise at Grantaire’s suggestion about the shoes, which made Grantaire feel like he should explain why this was a sensible query and not an odd creepy demand.

“It’s not about some creepy foot fetish I swear. Although there’s nothing creepy about having a fetish, whatever floats your boat mon ami. It’s just that you need to feel your feet instead of looking at them alright? And we’ll achieve that better barefoot. Just put your feet against mine and follow. Don’t look. Alright?”

Divested of their shoes now their feet were touching and true to Grantaire’s words, he felt slightly more relaxed already. Being back in the closeness of Grantaire’s arms helped dramatically as well. When did that happen? For all he knew he always felt tense and on edge around Grantaire. And now here he was, dancing, the steps came easier, even though Grantaire kept the pace deliberately slow there had definitely been an improvement. This new development made him stare at the man in front of him quizzically, as if he was seeing Grantaire for the first time. 

“Why are you looking at me funny? Do I have something on my face? Fucking paint gets everywhere.”

“No it’s not that… I’m just, concentrating on the steps.”

It was a lie and they both knew it. Grantaire let it go. Instead he focused on the dancing once more and took more tentative steps to surreptitiously expand their dancing space without Enjolras noticing. As Enjolras grew more and more comfortable, his focus shifted from the dancing which was now less foreign and came more naturally, to the man in front of him. He was now painfully aware of Grantaire, how he could feel the muscles in the other’s shoulder shift under his hand as he moved effortlessly about the room. How their feet never stopped touching. How Grantaire’s hands were a comforting presence in his hand and on his back, and most of all the inviting warmth that emanated from the man. There were still a few centimeters separating them and at that moment Enjolras wanted nothing more than to close the distance. Enjolras was confused. He couldn’t make sense of this rationally. It would be wrong to say that Enjolras’ actions were always motivated by reason only. More often than not it was his passion that drove him in anything he endeavored: his activism, his school work, his speeches. What was novel for Enjolras was feeling so strongly about another person. He had no frame of reference for this. He was less virginal than his friends took him for but still he couldn’t remember being so acutely aware of another person before. He couldn’t make himself think of it as want, not yet. But the thought was on the edge of his consciousness and it frightened him. So he spoke before the thought came clearer to the surface.

“You’re really good at this. How did you learn to dance so well?”

Grantaire had accelerated the tempo by degrees and Enjolras had been too lost in thought to notice but they were properly swaying now, and Grantaire had imparted some of his grace to Enjolras as they moved effortlessly, as if it was contagious, as if they simply belonged in each other’s arms. 

“I really should be offended at your surprised tone here Apollo. Promise me not to laugh if I tell you? Never mind, I know you won’t I don’t even remember the last time I ever saw you laugh.”

(That was a blatant lie, the last time he saw Enjolras laugh, genuinely laugh, was imprinted in his memory as if it was photographic paper hit by light, filed away in the confines of his artistic mind.)

After Enjolras dodged Grantaire’s remark and swore he wouldn’t mock him, Grantaire went on.

“Well if you so desperately want to know I got into it because of my aunt.Well great aunt actually, When I was 15 and things turned to shit at home with my dad she just took me in. No questions asked. Only I was not exactly an easy person to deal with. I was lucky that she was stubborn enough not to take my shit and instead of yelling at me she kind of forced me to take a part in her life. The ballroom dancing was actually a punishment after she caught me smoking in my room once. Really she just needed a partner and was just waiting for an excuse to rope me into this. But after a while I just enjoyed spending time like this with her and just stayed. I'd never been this popular in my life, believe it or not.

Enjolras did not expect this. He’d hope to lighten up the mood with small talk but he was floored that Grantaire had trusted him to impart something so personal to him so easily. He really didn’t know Grantaire after all. Looking at Grantaire now was like looking through a prism, details that had always been there hidden in plain sight now revealed and obvious. And still he couldn’t say he was surprised. It made sense. He was looking intently at Grantaire again and the other seemed to wither under the intensity of the searching look, and it made him unconsciously tighten his grip on Enjolras. Grantaire was equally as puzzled as Enjolras as he tried to make sense of the look, it wasn’t angry the way it always was. Enjolras was definitely acting weird today, he was more silent than usual, more passive, but the way he looked at Grantaire was as intense as ever. Grantaire told himself if was due to the unusual circumstances, them not usually spending time just the two of them together and their roles reversed for once with him leading Enjolras. Enjolras was still looking, trying to reconcile the Grantaire in front of him with the Grantaire he knew from the meetings. Still, Grantaire was an enigma. 

“Your great aunt seems to be a great person.”  
Enjolras ended up saying to break the silence, and in an effort to show Grantaire that he had not dismissed what he had confided in him.

“Yes, she really is.”

Without thinking, taking in Grantaire’s faraway look as he was probably recalling fond memories of his aunt he muttered:

“I hope I can meet her someday…”

Grantaire looked at him, wide-eyed. 

“Really?”

“Is that really surprising? Isn’t that what friends do?”

“No, I mean, I didn’t expect that from you Apollo I wasn’t sure if we were friends or anything to be honest.” 

Oh. Enjolras was now frowning. Combeferre was right, had been right from the start. Of course.

“Well I know we argue a lot but I’ve always considered you my friend Grantaire. I’m sorry I didn’t made that clear in the past, but you’re my friend.”

This afternoon could not get any weirder for both of them. Enjolras was in Grantaire’s arms dancing while imparting personal stories with Grantaire and having to declare their friendship. Enjolras wanted to erase the look of doubt and self-deprecation off Grantaire’s face, had never wanted to comfort someone so much in his life as badly as he wanted to comfort Grantaire at the moment, but he was already as close to Grantaire as he’d ever been and even though they were already arms in arms he feared hugging Grantaire would be a trespass in light of the recent revelation about their rocky friendship. Probably to diffuse the awkwardness and as a distraction Grantaire said Enjolras was ready to dance to music. They departed reluctantly and Grantaire strode to Enjolras’ computer. He seemed to have regained some of his flippant self as he glanced at the content of the playlist, his tone was teasing again.

“You’ve got an awful lot of Sinatra on this Apollo. I’m more of an Ella Fitzgerald man myself. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Sinatra is a hell of a performer but Ella, she sings her heart out.”

Instead of putting something from the playlist he fished out his ipod from the pocket of his discarded jacket and plugged it to the computer. Soon warm notes flooded the apartment. Grantaire flashed Enjolras a devilish grin.

“Will you do me the honor of granting me the next dance?”

Grantaire asked slyly. Enjolras only shook his head in feigned exasperation but walked to Grantaire to meet him halfway. He took his hand in his and rested his hand on his shoulder. It was so easy. 

“And this time I promise I'll stay in my dance space,” said Enjolras. Grantaire froze.

“Enjolras, you're aware that you've just made a Dirty Dancing reference right?”

“Courfeyrac spends more time here than at his place so yes I'm aware. You don't have the monopoly on jokes.”

Grantaire burst laughing at Enjolras' remark and offended look.

“Can we resume the lesson please?” 

“Sure? Nobody puts Enjy in a corner,” replied Grantaire smugly, non plussed by Enjolras' glare.

They started to dance, still barefoot. It was still hesitant at first, a little clumsy on Enjolras’ part because the tempo was slightly faster than before, but Grantaire was a good lead and held his own, making it easier for Enjolras to follow. Grantaire seemed satisfied with his student. After a while he brought his face closer to Enjolras, to whisper conspiratorially in his ear:

“See Apollo? You’re dancing.”

And indeed he was. 

“Only because you’re a good lead.”

Grantaire wasn’t used to the praise coming from Enjolras but apparently he was on a roll today.

“Well, just tell Cosette to lead the day of the wedding. Pontmercy’s not gonna lead anyway, so she won’t begrudge you if you don’t… It’s already a miracle that you’re able to dance at all so…”

“Hey!”

Enjolras swatted Grantaire’s shoulder playfully. They were in an impossibly good mood and the music was good too. Enjolras asked curiously:

“It seems like you’ve been doing this for quite some time. Will you show me what else you’re capable of someday?”

“I could show you right now, if you’re up to it.”

They locked eyes, challenge written plainly on their faces, Grantaire knew Enjolras could never refuse a proposition like that. They both nodded their assent, and suddenly the arm on Enjolras’ back was gone and Grantaire raised their clasped hands before giving them a tug, making Enjolras twirl effortlessly before Grantaire. They both laughed as Enjolras stepped on Grantaire’s toes as he tried to return in Grantaire’s arms. Despite Grantaire’s ministrations there were still remnants of Enjolras’ clumsiness, but it was in good humor. They went back to the basic steps Enjolras was comfortable with, but Grantaire still wore that mischievous grin that kept Enjolras on edge with anticipation. On the next step which brought Enjolras backward, Grantaire gave a slight push all the while taking a step backwards, making Enjolras step sideways and drop the hand that rested on Grantaire’s shoulder to straighten his arm in order to keep his balance, they were next to each other, still joined by their clasped hands and when Grantaire gave a slight tug Enjolras was back in his arms once more. Enjolras was not nearly as graceful as Grantaire and he now regretted that he’d missed Grantaire’s lessons, because seeing Grantaire dancing with a partner more experienced than him must have been quite a sight. Enjolras didn’t have time to linger on such thoughts as Grantaire asked: 

“Do you trust me Apollo?”

He couldn’t answer anything other than an intent half whispered “yes” and suddenly Grantaire’s hand slid lower down his back and he was bending and dipping Enjolras impossibly low. Enjolras followed, his chest against Grantaire’s who could probably feel his heart beating madly against his ribcage, having effectively put his trust in Grantaire’s hands, he clasped his shoulder ever so tightly. When Grantaire pulled him back up, they were forced even closer, which caused Enjolras to take a sharp intake of breath, their faces so close they were probably breathing the same air, their cheeks colored in a blush that had nothing to do with effort.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire still had his hand low on Enjolras’ back, unconsciously beckoning him closer. Their eyes locked, the music, the dancing, all was forgotten except for them. Obeying an impulse neither of them could deny, they found themselves drawn to each other and soon the meager centimeters that separated them were history. They were pressed against each other and their lips brushed tentatively. It was impossible to know which one had kissed the other first, the kiss was almost chaste, an evidence, their minds joined as well as their bodies. Grantaire stiffened a bit and broke the kiss first, looking with wide eyes at Enjolras, puzzlement written all over his face as if he’d registered that they’d been kissing after the act itself, like thunder after a lightning bolt. But he wasn’t ready for words yet. Enjolras spoke first.

“Was that… Was that okay?”

And if Enjolras thought Grantaire’s eyes couldn’t get any wider he was just proven wrong by the dark haired man.

“Okay. He’s asking me if that was okay.”

Grantaire seemed dazed and Enjolras was afraid he’d done something wrong or said the wrong thing, even though he had no idea if it was himself or Grantaire who had initiated the kiss.

“Please correct me if I’m wrong, but please please please on all the things that I don’t believe in tell me that what happened wasn’t a trick of my imagination and that we kissed just now…”

That was all the reassurance Enjolras needed. And suddenly he was tired of words, instead he decided to kiss Grantaire, to shut him up, to answer him, or just because he could. The second kiss was less chaste and more a conscious decision than the previous one. It was sure. Enjolras bent his head for a better angle and gave everything he got in that kiss, all the want, the frustration, the affection… And Grantaire retuned it with a passion. 

Enjolras’ left hand trailed up from Grantaire’s shoulder to his neck, where it grasped at the soft curls at the nape of Grantaire’s neck. This elicited a moan from the dark haired man who clenched his hand in the fabric of Enjolras’ tee shirt, and unclasped their joined hands to mirror the blonde and trail his hand through blond curls. Enjolras clenched the front of Grantaire’s shirt with his free hand, knuckles grazing at the sensitive skin of Grantaire’s stomach. When Grantaire’s hand slipped under the hem of Enjolras’ tee shirt to skim the warm skin on his back Enjolras gasped against Grantaire’s lips. Grantaire seized the opportunity to run his tongue lightly on Enjolras’ bottom lip, asking for permission to take this even further.

He keened when Enjolras’ tongue met his and the kiss deepened, turning almost frantic. They only broke the kiss when they had to come for air, but didn’t break their embrace as they were trying to regain their composure, panting but more hungry for each other than ever. 

Enjolras was resting his head on Grantaire shoulder and he pressed a kiss on the pulse point on Grantaire’s neck, before running his tongue over it feeling the mad pulse beating against it. He was drunk on sensation, Grantaire’s scent was now stronger and more intoxicating than ever and as Grantaire emitted a contented drawn out moan, he started to nip and suck a bruise there. 

Grantaire brought his leg between Enjolras’ which caused the blond to gasp against his neck, his breath ghosting against the wet sensitive spot, hot and cold at the same time. Grantaire’s hand was still roaming on Enjolras’ skin under his tee shirt, hitching it up and up, mapping the muscles of his toned back, skimming greedily over his ribcage. 

It was more than he could have ever asked for and not enough at the same time. He wanted the stupid shirt gone and as if Enjolras had heard his silent plea he took it off and discarded the offending item on the floor. Enjolras attacked the buttons on Grantaire’s shirt next as if being slightly overdressed than him was a personal offense, Grantaire had a teasing remark about Enjolras’ obsession with equality but it died on the tip of his tongue as Enjolras sent some buttons flying in his eagerness to have the shirt removed and next to his own on the floor. Enjolras muttered a choked “sorry” which lacked sincerity but Grantaire couldn’t find it in himself to care because suddenly they were running hungry and desperate hands on each other’s skin and it was maddening, to be permitted to touch, to commit everything to sensory memory, to elicit such reactions when he never thought he’d be ever allowed to have this… 

And then Enjolras tugged at his hands and beckoned him to the couch because their limbs felt heavy and standing up seemed too daunting a task at the moment. Enjolras dragged him backwards and it was another kind of dance, bare feet in stumbling and clumsy sync, Enjolras having regained some of his usual grace. He pushed Grantaire on the couch before straddling him and the sight of his Apollo looking so disheveled and gone with want was almost too much for Grantaire, who braced himself by putting his hands on Enjolras’ hips, sensing the ripple muscles and the warm skin there. He dug his fingers to the point of pain which elicited a new wave of pleasure through Enjolras. The blond bent and kissed Grantaire shortly on the lips, nipping at his bottom lip before trailing kisses along his neck, throat, chest, and impossibly lower on his stomach, down to the waistline of his jeans, hands trailing on the smooth inked skin in the wake of the kisses. Grantaire had regained his sense of speech but not his usual coherency just yet. He arched his back in pleasure and muttered a plea of want in between a string of expletives and moans of Enjolras' name that were driving the other man insane.

Their hips were slotted against each other, their arousal plain to the other so in response Enjolras ground his hips against Grantaire's, whose hands had gone from Enjolras’ hipbones to his back and Grantaire was now trailing his fingernails none too gently against Enjolras’ skin. They were openly moaning, their moans mingled as much as everything else, but suddenly a piercing ringtone brought them out of their frenzy. Grantaire’s phone. 

“Don’t answer it,” urged Enjolras, before kissing Grantaire on his lips again.

“Apollo, stop. I can’t. It’s not a phone call.”

Grantaire muttered against his lips. Enjolras stopped and frowned at Grantaire.

“Oh…”

“I set an alarm not to forget the time. There’s someplace I’ve gotta be, I’m really sorry but it’s really important…”

Grantaire brought his hands to his face. 

Enjolras didn’t know how to read Grantaire. He sounded vague about it, but maybe he was afraid of boring Enjolras? Normally Enjolras would have let it go but in an effort to show Grantaire that he was his friend and that he cared, he asked:

“Oh, where to?”

That unsettled Grantaire, because he knew Enjolras would normally let it go.

“You really want to know?”

“Sure, I mean, I’d like to know but only if you want to tell me.”

“I have an AA meeting.”

Oh. Some things clicked into place in Enjolras’ mind. That explained why Grantaire had recently only come to the meetings held at the café Musain and not at those held at the Corinthe, which served alcohol. Another detail about Grantaire that Enjolras had failed to pay attention to. Silence stretched as they both tried to assess the situation. The atmosphere which had been light just moments ago was now thick with tension. They suddenly felt cold and bare, naked from the waist up, Enjolras still straddling Grantaire who looked vulnerable an unsure.

“Wow R, I didn’t know…”

“Yeah. Only ‘Ponine and Cosette know. Combeferre probably has an inkling about it too although I didn’t say anything. Seven month sober as of now.”

Grantaire sat up.

“Wow R… That’s… That’s great… That’s really great. Why didn’t you tell the others? That’s very brave of you…”

“I didn’t want the others to know yet… It’s a lot of pressure and you know… In case I fail…”

Enjolras ran his hand up and down Grantaire’s arm in a manner that he wanted to be comforting. Then they both stood up and Grantaire went in search of his clothes. He tried to button up his shirt before realizing that most of the buttons were gone. His eyes snapped at Enjolras who was watching him. The blond blushed, the flush creeping on his cheeks before spreading to his chest. Grantaire’s pupils dilated with desire at the sight of it.

“Um… I do am sorry about that. Let me lend you a shirt at least.”

Enjolras went to his bedroom and was back with a black tee shirt that would probably be a little tight on Grantaire’s stockier frame and with a scarf. Grantaire put the shirt on and glanced at the scarf quizzically. Enjolras gestured at his neck. He looked almost embarrassed. Grantaire brushed his fingers absentmindedly against his pulse point on the now sensitive skin where Enjolras had sucked a red purple bruise. He had to leave right now if he didn’t want to get distracted again, although he wasn’t sure where he stood with Enjolras. He went to retrieve his ipod and his things and went for the door, where Enjolras followed. 

“How are you holding up with the AA meetings?”

“Well... It’s kind of hard to follow the 12 steps accurately when you don’t believe in God but at least, my sponsor’s great so you know…”

Grantaire shrugged. Enjolras wanted to reach out to him but he suddenly felt shy and didn’t know if his touch would be welcomed by Grantaire. Still, before he could leave he hugged him tightly. Grantaire took a moment to hug back but he did, relishing in the touch, and some of the tension eased from his limbs.

Enjolras spoke gently in Grantaire’s neck:

“If you need anything Grantaire, I know I haven’t been a good friend to you in the past but. I’m there for you. You just have to ask and I’ll be there.”

“Just as a friend then?”

“I didn’t want to presume and pressure you or anything. It’s new to me. I know now I really like you Grantaire, you have to know that at least. We can figure it out later if you want.”

Grantaire held onto him tighter and nodded. He wasn't as uncertain about his feelings for Enjolras but for now he felt comfortable enough to let things as they were because he didn’t doubt Enjolras. Enjolras spoke again, shyly:

“Would it be okay for me to kiss you?”

Grantaire laughed.

“You idiot. I've been pining for you for fucking ever in case you didn't notice, so yeah, more than okay.”

Enjolras relaxed slightly and kissed Grantaire who departed afterwards. Enjolras went back to his apartment to try and put back the scattered furniture back to its original place, wondering if he could do the same with his life, brought to chaos and order in what had possibly been the strangest day of his life.


	3. Alternate Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire makes a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The alternate ending occurs right after chapter 1, read if you want.

The meager distance between them was closing, a magnetic pull drawing them to one another without it being clear whose intent it was. Their eyes were still locked; at that moment it was impossible to tear their eyes off the other. And then their lips brushed in the lightest manner only Grantaire stilled and turned his head away before the touch could turn into a kiss. Enjolras froze, the shock felt physical and not metaphorical, like he’d been hit, like a needle coming off a scratched record and pulling a song to an abrupt stop.

“I’m sorry Enjolras… I can’t…” breathed Grantaire into his neck, still panting.

Maybe Enjolras had read everything wrong about Grantaire. It would not have been the first time. Could it have been that Grantaire being obviously flirty during the meetings had just been a mean to tease Enjolras and nothing serious, a satirical play on the chaste air he was giving off? Could it have been that Grantaire’s intense look when beholding Enjolras had been born of hatred and not bewitchment? Could it have been that Grantaire’s involvement in the meetings despite his open cynicism had just been solely for him to trail after his friends and not because Enjolras somehow managed to breached through an armor of disbelief?

He’d never felt so wrong about anything before, so utterly foolish… He’d just mended his fragile friendship with Grantaire to just shatter it to smithereens the next moment, because surely, how could he ever repair this? He’d taken words back in the past in the worst times he’d been overly callous to Grantaire. But now how could he take his feelings back? Feelings plainly unwanted by Grantaire? He might not be able to fix this but he could still apologize.

“No Grantaire. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have come so strong on you like this without your consent. I clearly misread the situation and abused the trust you put in me which is unacceptable and I hope you’ll forgive me for that because it was not my intention to make you uncomfortable in any way. I-”

Whatever Enjolras was about to say died on his lips as Grantaire chuckled lowly. It wasn’t cheerful or mocking as was usually Grantaire, but merely underlined with a resigned sadness like he was laughing to a sick joke Enjolras wasn’t privy too.

“ ‘Hell is truth seen too late’ Apollo, and you have no idea how much I feel it right now. I would find the irony of the situation hilarious if the joke was not cruelly at my expense. Enjolras. When I say I can’t, I don’t mean I don’t want to, I mean I can’t, not right now. Hell… A few months ago I would have died for this to happen but trust fate to make you spring this on me at the one time I can’t take it. Before you get the wrong idea you must know that I’ve been head over heels for you for a very long time.” 

"I... I don't understand...”

They were clutching each other still, and Enjolras felt Grantaire took a deep breath against his neck before he could hear it. Then Grantaire broke the embrace, took his arms off Enjolras and that’s it thought Enjolras, it’s over before it even began, Grantaire is gooing to go away for good… Only he didn’t, the dark haired man rummaged through his pocket and took Enjolras’ hand before placing something in it and closing his fingers around it. Then Grantaire looked intently at Enjolras while the blond opened his hand to see what it was: a simple worn aluminium coin, green, jaded and looking old, engraved with a circle inside a triangle, the number 3 inside the circle. Around the outside rim, the inscription “To thine own self be true” and around the side of the triangle the words Unity, Service, Recovery. The back of the coin simply bore the inscription “God grant me the serenity to accept things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.” Enjolras’ eyes snapped to Grantaire’s in astonishment. What Enjolras held in his hand was a sobriety token given at AA meetings. He couldn’t speak.

“Almost five month sober now but I only carry this one around. It was my sponsor's and he gave it to me.”

“Wow R, I didn’t know…”

“Yeah. Only ‘Ponine and Cosette know. Combeferre probably has an inkling about it too although I didn’t say anything.”

“Wow R… That’s… That’s great… That’s really great. Why didn’t you tell the others? That’s very brave of you…”

“I didn’t want the others to know yet… It’s a lot of pressure and you know… In case I fail… This is why I can’t do this right now Enjolras. I know us and if we do this it’s bound to be a crazy rollercoaster because we’re really good at arguing and as of now I don’t want to risk my sobriety, for my sake and yours. I don’t really feel stable enough not to fuck this up somehow.”

“Shit. Of course R you’re right, I understand. Thank you for telling me this.”

And then Enjolras looked at the coin and laughed. Probably more out of nervousness and as a result of the tension easing… Grantaire felt slightly relieved.

“What’s so funny Apollo?”

The laughter who had bubbled up shyly at first bordered on hysterics.

“I’m so sorry R, but,’ God grant me the serenity to accept things I cannot change’”

“I know I know… That’s the hard part, don’t worry about me I’m still as cynical and agnostic as ever… You’ll be pleased to know that I got into an argument about this with the guy in charge on my first meeting. Almost didn’t come back after that, wouldn’t have if it weren’t for my sponsor. He’s a really decent guy, doesn’t take my shit and hasn’t given up on me yet.”

At least they were both smiling now. There wasn’t anything much left to say after that, all in all it was probably the most constructive and clear discussion they’d ever had, they had actually managed to communicate which was something of a major achievement for them. 

The ill timing of it all left a little bit of a bitter taste but it wasn’t enough to out weight the good. They would go from there, they always did. They felt a little bit lighter, like a piece of the puzzle had been put into place. Enjolras seemed hesitant around Grantaire, unsure if he should step out to give Grantaire all the space he needed or if she should reaffirm his presence around him to afford all the support he could to him, be it as a friend only. 

Grantaire seemed to sense his struggle, because as he exited, he took Enjolras in a bone crushing hug. It grounded Enjolras considerably, made him voice his concerns to Grantaire since communicating had, it turned out, worked considerably well for them (Combeferre had always been right about that), he admitted that he hadn’t been a great friend but was willing to make up for it, and that he’d do anything Grantaire would ask him to, be it leave him alone or be at his side as a platonic friend, promising to let his feelings aside for as long as Grantaire would need him to. Grantaire smiled at Enjolras’ earnestness, telling him that he didn’t have to do anything other than what he was already doing, and that his presence as a friend would be welcome at his side. He grabbed Enjolras head in both hands and pressed a kiss to his lips before leaving, the gesture chaste and sweet, a promise left hanging between them.


End file.
